Visits
by CNoel
Summary: They all think the thing he loves most is girls. Girls and suits, maybe the occasional Ted-bashing. They think that's all he cares about, all he ever will. Shows how much they know... Then again, he never really let them know anything, did he?
1. Prologue

**A/N: Sup, peeps! Well, I guess I really shouldn't do that yet, since this is my first fanfic ever. Seriously. Ever. I know, I'm a nerd. A nerd with awesome sunglasses. And my ego is huge. So suck it. I know I'm crazy. Don't judge.**

**Disclaimer: I am a crazy nerd with awesome sunglasses and a kick-ass ego. How could I possibly own How I Met Your Mother? Well, maybe the sunglasses part...**

**Visits**

Prologue

He always came to visit her.

Even when he should've been with his family or friends or at work or at the store or eating or sleeping, even then he'd go to visit. He'd go and visit her every single day, and it didn't matter if it was raining or snowing or if it was so, so hot or so, so cold, because he'd always be there. He couldn't imagine ever being anywhere else.

When the visits first started, he'd go all day, every day, but they all told him he had to stop. Well, they didn't say it quite so cruelly; just that he should spend time with other people. He knew exactly what they meant by that, but he didn't listen. It made him angry that they'd talk like that; talk like that about _her,_ who they knew he loves so much. Who they knew he loves the most. Over time, he pretended that he was at some girl's house (a fake girl, to be exact) or with a friend (who was, of course, in on the trickery), and he'd go and visit her. He'd say that he was spending the night with a girl but spend the night with her instead. All that his friends and family saw was that he was going to see her less and less, and that was exactly how he wanted it to look, because then they wouldn't worry about him, they would think he was getting better. They never saw it how it really was, maybe because it was far too painful for them to think of her. That must be why they hated to visit. They were afraid how much it hurt him to visit, so they tried to get him to stop, but he never did. And it was too painful for them to even try, so they couldn't ever understand why he went so much. Well, it _was_ painful for him, but he went anyway. It hurt, it hurt _so bad_ when he went to visit her, but he went because he loves her way, _way_ more than it hurts him to go, so he'd go and stay to talk late into the night, and he'd never sleep or eat, he'd just talk.

But every time he went he told himself not to cry, because he had already cried so much on _that day_ and he didn't what her to see him upset because when he was upset she got upset, and she didn't deserve to be upset. And so he didn't cry. Not once, not in front of her, or anyone else, for that matter. When he was certain he was completely and utterly alone, however, he would let a few silent tears slip out before angrily rubbing them away. Then, the anger would dissolve, and he would simply sit silently and think of her eyes and her hair and her voice and he'd almost start crying like he did on _that day,_ and he was never going to let that happen again because no one could ever, _ever _see how broken he really was. So for a year, a year after _it,_ he held in all the sadness and anger and all those tears he hated so much, he held them in, smack in the middle of that stupid, stupid ache in his heart that refused to leave him alone, the ache that he planned to lock away forever.

But things don't always go according to plan, In fact, they never do. Like the time they had decided to try spinning plates (they both knew it was a stupid idea, but what's life without adventures?), and put pillows on the ground so the plates wouldn't shatter when they inevitably fell. That was the plan, but when the plates fell they missed the pillows somehow and shattered on the floor. And the time that she had planned a surprise party for him had been a failure. The plan was obvious, the same as any surprise party: keep him away from the plans, the decorations, and the house when they were setting it up. Get him to the house when things are prepared, and most importantly, _keep it a secret! _It was that last part that failed. They had sent him to spend the day with a friend, who just so happened to be the worst secret-keeper on the face of the Earth. If they had known, he had thought after his friend had squealed, then maybe, just _maybe,_ things would have gone to plan. But now, looking back, he knew something else would have gone wrong, because for some reason things never went according to plan, so he should be thankful the only thing that went wrong was his friend being a squealer. And then there was _that day, _her birthday, where the plan wasfor her to spend some time with some friends, and then come back home for a party. But for some reason, plans that they make always, always fail. They were in an arcade, and she stepped out to get some air. She _planned_ to head back in after a second, but things never go according to plan. She decided to take a little walk because that's just what she liked to do when she was happy, and she _planned_ to only walk for a little and then go back in, but things never go according to plan. Then she bumped into a stranger, and she _planned_ to apologize and head right back into the arcade because she was nice enough to say sorry and smart enough to get away. But things never, _ever _go according to plan. If things did, then they'd have more plates in the kitchen and he'd be able to talk about how surprised he was at his party. If things went exactly how you planned, he wouldn't even _need_ to bite back tears or hold in this stupid ache in his chest.

But at first, on the day his delicate plan shattered completely, things went exactly how they were supposed to. They all went to see her because it was her birthday, but soon they started to cry and he almost told them to leave because she hated seeing people cry. But he didn't so they stayed and they cried and he couldn't yell at them because she hated when they get into fights. So he bit his tongue to keep the bitter words from rolling off of it, and he stood there and told himself not to cry because they already were and he had to be strong for her. Then his mother yelled at him for not crying and being so selfish and heartless, and how _she_ would cry if it were him. So he yelled back that she hates when we cry so he can't do it, and that she'd better leave if all she's gonna to is yell because she hated that too. Then his mother and everyone else got all quiet and stopped crying. They just stood there without saying anything and he had to resist the urge to yell at them some more because she hated awkward silences, too. But she really hated when they fought and he knew that if he yelled they'd fight, so he held it in. But when they all left he said he would stay because he drove himself here and would come home later. They all knew it was a lie, but they knew how much he loves her so they let him stay. So when they left as the sun started to set, he sat down at told her about his life like he always did, only this time he talked about of the hardships of the year, of the sorrows and his bitter, bitter tears because he just _needed_ to get the words out, and no one listened better than her. But immediately after he felt bad and apologized that he told her such upsetting things, and started talking about good things. But good things never seemed to happen to him anymore so he talked about good things on the news. He told her about charities and miracles and real life heroes. But he never told her about crimes or criminals getting put in jail because then he'd have to tell her that _he_ was still out there, and he'd have to say how he was sure they'd catch _him_ soon but he knew it was a lie and he hated lying to her.

Then he reached out and laid a shaky hand on the gravestone, something he never dared to do before because he was afraid he'd start to cry, but he knew he really should touch it because she's his little sister and he loves her so much. He almost did start to cry, but he bit back the tears like he always did, and instead let a small whimper leave his throat. He felt it tighten so he swallowed and closed his eyes because he knew that if he didn't the tears would burst out and she really hates to see him upset. Then he opened his eyes and told her that she was just _so beautiful,_ and that she was the most beautiful girl who would ever walk the Earth, and how he loved her so, _so_ much. He closed his eyes again and tried to concentrate on the blackness there because he knew if he didn't he'd start thinking of her and then he'd start to cry. She hates it when he cries, and God Dammit, Barney Stinson _does not cry!_

Then he felt warmth on his cheek. It was…soothing, maybe, but the tears trying to burst out of his eyes didn't vanish. In fact, this strange warmth made them fight even harder to come out. His stomach dropped; maybe he was already crying! Tears were warm, right? God, he hasn't cried in _so long, _not properly, at least. But he couldn't cry, not here, not now! She hated when he cried, _hated_ it! Crying was for later; crying was for when he was _anywhere _but here! In a panic, he brushed his hand against his cheek. No wetness… just… more warmth. Slowly, his eyes opened. The first thought that he properly processed was that the sun had set. The second made him recoil in shock, because the second thing was _her._

She looked exactly like she had when he last saw her alive. His jaw dropped, and he reached out to touch her, to brush that dirty blond hair behind her ear just like he always had whenever he said hello or goodbye, whenever she was creeped out or happy, whenever he told her how awesome she is or how much he loves her or just how damn _beautiful_ she really is. He wanted to do that so damn bad, but he couldn't. What if he touched her, and she went away? God knows he can't deal with that, not again, so he didn't touch her. But she had touched him… Was it worth the risk? Was touching her really worth losing her all over again? No. No, it wasn't. But he just missed her so, so much!

Then she looked at him with those eyes, those pretty blue eyes, and she smiled at him like she always did, and the tears almost came rushing out. He held them back, because she was right here, and she could _not_ see him cry! She could never see him cry. No one could _ever _see him cry, because if he cried, then they'd all see how broken he still was, how broken he'd _always_ be. But then she touched his cheek again and a tear slipped out, and it took everything he had to keep the rest in. She leaned in and whispered in his ear; _"You know, it's okay to cry…"_ and her voice was just as sweet and gentle as it always was, and _God,_ he missed that voice _so much!_ He held back another wave of tears and finally processed what she had said. She said he could cry. She was okay with it. But _could_ he cry? After all this time… all this time the only thing he put any effort into was holding back these stupid, stupid tears. So he didn't know if he could cry anymore, if all he could do was sit here and feel the tears coming but never letting them go.

Then he looked up at her and looked, he really, really _looked_ at her, and for a second, she was all he saw. Just her, he saw her so clearly and sharply that he almost looked away. But he locked eyes with her; he looked into those pretty, pretty blue-grey eyes he thought he'd never see again, and he felt the tears coming back.

And this time, he let them out.

**A/N: So, wasn't this such a happy first chapter? Yeah, there's more. I know you're sick of me already, but suck it up. You know you love me;). And if you don't I will MAKE you love me! Just kidding, you will die... Anyway, let me know if I did a good job or if there's something wrong with it that I need to fix. But there won't be. Wanna know why? Cause I'm freaking perfect, that's why! Wow, I can already _feel_ people start to hate me and my kick-ass ego! But since most of you love me after this microscopic amount of time I've been on this site, you rock. And you get an imaginary cookie. And you get to see me beg for reviews. Please? Please? _PLEEEEAAASE?_**

**_REVIEW NOW OR YOU DIE._**

**Anyways, see you next time, my little minions!**

**~CNoel**


	2. Chapter One

**A/****N: WUZZUP PEOPLES? All two of you! Yeah, only two people reviewed! What's up with that? Am I not good enough for your words? Huh? HUH? You meanies are lucky I'm even updating, but Maya Sushi (First review! WHOO!) threatened to throw a rock in my window, and with my luck, it would hit me in the head and I would die. So I'm struggling to live. And what are you doing? You're freeloading on my genius. **

**Don't mooch on my genius.**

**Thanks, Maya Sushi and oc-journey06 (check out their stories) for reviewing my genius. And thank you for loving my kick-ass ego. Who doesn't?**

**Disclaimer: With two reviews, all I own is the chapters of this story that will not be published. So suck it.**

…

**Eww! Get your minds out of the gutter!**

**Visits**

Chapter One

Finally, the tears stopped coming.

He was surprised at how good it felt, how much weight seemed to be lifted from his aching chest (_Still there_), just by letting out a few tears. Okay, not just a few. A lot, probably all the tears he's been holding on to, the tears that, now that he let them go, tasted so bitter, but felt so sweet (_Just bitter_). He felt so much better, and almost regretted hiding them in the first place (_No more tears_). But he knows he had to hold them in, because if he didn't she would've gotten upset. And if she got upset, then she'd cry, and he hated seeing her upset and crying (_Cry_). But if he didn't cry and if he stayed strong, then she'd be proud of him, she'd be so proud of her big brother (_No one's proud_). And she had to be proud of him, because then he'd feel better, and she'd feel better, and everything just led back to her, didn't it? But he kept her proud by holding in the tears for a long time, for what seemed like forever (_Forever in hell_).

Or maybe it was forever, and he was just in hell (_You are_). This certainly _felt_ like hell. After all, what kind of heaven or earth didn't have her (_This earth_)? How could anything function without her? And since no heaven or earth could ever survive without her on it, then he must be in hell. But what kind of hell would she _ever_ show up in (_This hell_)? She could never deserve hell, and hell was a place for eternal suffering. She could never, ever deserve eternal suffering. She could never even deserve _minor_ suffering; she could never deserve any suffering at all. If he was meant to suffer (and considering what he does to women, he probably _does_ deserve eternal suffering), then he wouldn't be seeing her at all, or at least not like this. No, he'd be seeing her like… Well, he really didn't want to think of that (_Think_). No, he wouldn't think of it ever again. He _couldn't_ think of it, because once he did he would start to cry, and he already cried in front of her (_Bitter_).

_In front of her._ He never thought he'd be sitting in front of her ever again. But he is, because she's _here_. Really here (_She's not_). Or maybe he's just crazy, but he'd honestly prefer that to not ever seeing her again (_Crazy_). And he missed her so, so much… How many times has he wished to see her again (_Too many_)? How many times has he begged her to come back (_So many times_)? How many times has he cursed at God (_What God?_) for taking her away? How many times has he asked why, why did she die? How could she have ever deserved to die like that? How many times has he begged to know how his family could ever deserve this pain, this heartache, this pure, unrelenting _suffering _(_Your fault_)_? _So many times… But he wanted-he _needed_- to know what they had ever done wrong to deserve this, what _she_ had ever done wrong to deserve this. How could she have deserved that on her birthday, when she was supposed to be having fun and going to parties? But now, now he _could_ see her again (_A dream_); he could just look up and see that face he has wanted to see again for what felt like an eternity in the worst kind of hell. He wanted so bad to simply look up and see her again.

But he didn't dare look up. He couldn't look up. Maybe he _was_ crazy. Seriously, what kind of brother can't bear look at his little sister (_You_)? What kind of twisted reality-no, twisted _hell_-was he in, where he couldn't _bear_ to even _try_ to look at his sister? He had been looking at her seconds ago, but tears had blurred most of his vision… He was either crazy or in hell, he knew… But at the same time, he knew wasn't crazy, and he knew he wasn't in hell. He knew, because if he was crazy then… Well, he honestly wasn't sure. It's not like he's ever _been_ crazy before. He'd probably see flashes of whatever asylum they're keeping him in, the white wall and the white floors, the people restraining him whenever he lost it… Or maybe that was just in the movies. But he knew he wasn't in hell (_You are_), because hell is _not_ nice enough to let him see her. If he was in hell, he'd be seeing her like-no, no, don't think of it. (_Think of it)_ But he still couldn't look (_Look_). What if _it_ was still there? He honestly wasn't sure how he could handle it if it was. He wasn't sure _if_ he could handle it. But he wanted to see her, he wanted to see her face again, how she looked when she was vivid and alive. Not dead (_She's dead_). And not blurred by more stupid, stupid bittersweet tears (_Just bitter_). Surely God wasn't cruel enough to send her to him looking like _that?_ Of course he wasn't… He wasn't, right? No, he couldn't look, not until he knew. He took a shaky breath, and only then did he realize he hadn't taken one for a long while. Maybe he was dead too, he thought vaguely (_Hell_). But then his lungs burned for more air and he knew he wasn't, and the pang of disappointment didn't surprise him in the least.

He debated weather to look up slowly or just look fast and get it over with (_Now. Do it now_). Or maybe he should just sit like this for a minute or two and force his brain to get over the shock, to believe that she really was here. She was here, of course (_She wasn't_). He knew that. Or maybe he really was just crazy… But he _couldn't_ be crazy, because if he was crazy he'd be in an asylum right now and not with her (_You're not with her_). He tried to ask her if _it_ was still there, if she really _was_ there, but he couldn't find the words. In fact, he couldn't find _any_ words floating around in his muddled brain (_Hell-bound brain_). There was nothing in his brain but her. And he was okay with that, just as long as he looks up soon and sees her beautiful face again (_Rotted, underground. Dead_).

Finally, he makes the decision to just look up. It's easier then, right (_No_)? Because you just get it over with… Okay… One… Two… Three… Nothing. Again. One, two, three, nothing. He curses himself and tries again, getting impatient. One two three now!_ Now! _For the love of God (_What love, what God?_), now, _now, now!_ Still, he cannot look up. The dread rolling around in his gut is just too much; his willpower too little (_Look now)_. Once more, he tries. Slower this time. One… Two… He pauses, gathering his willpower, his need to see her, trying to bury the dread of what might be waiting on her soft, pale neck (_blood_)…

_Three…_

…

For a moment, he did not move. He cursed himself yet again (_Weak_), and prepared to redo the count. Suddenly, as if his reaction had been delayed, he looked up. Surprised that he did not get whiplash from the sudden movement, he gazed at her neck. Nothing. No red, no hole, no… nothing. His shoulders slumped with relief. He couldn't see her like that again. There was no way he'd be able to see that. But before he could tear his watering (to his distress) eyes away, he noticed a round, silvery mark. A scar.

Unblinking, he stared at it, and when he was about to look away, the scar exploded with red and black. Now, it wasn't a scar. It was a bleeding, gaping _hole,_ and the blood, _so much blood…_ A scream nearly tore itself out of his throat. _I'm in hell. I am in hell!_ Was the only thought running through his head. The blood leaked onto her clothes and dribbled to the ground. There were sickeningly black clots of blood, clashing with the horribly bright crimson liquid leaking out and nearly falling on him. But before he could run or scream or faint or vomit or cry, or probably all five, he blinked. He blinked and it was all over. Gone. Her clothes showed no evidence of what he just witnessed, and the ground was clean and dry. For a second he stared at the scar. Nor red, no black, and no hole. Just a small, silvery patch of closed skin. Just a scar (_Maybe more_).

But still, he quickly tore his eyes away from it, fearful it may happen again. He knew that if it did, he wouldn't be able to hold in the screams of fear, the vomit, and the tears. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from running away, running away from his own _sister _(_His dead sister_)_, _andfrom dropping into a dead faint. So much blood… People didn't have that much blood. They just didn't. It couldn't be possible for one girl to hold that much blood in her (_So red, so much_).

Hands still shaking from the ordeal, he looked up at her face, half afraid that something else was going to spring out at him (_Blood, red blood_). But as his eyes took in all her features; the dirty blond locks, bright, grey-blue eyes, pale skin (_Never see again_), he knew nothing would.

A smile nearly broke out on his lips, but didn't, as he remembered where he was. Why he was here. _Maybe this is all a dream_ he thought, _maybe I've been dreaming this whole thing…_

_For a _year_?_ It was a harsh thought, as if someone else entirely had thought it up. But it still sounded like him. _Maybe I'm in a coma, _he thought back, _maybe I got hit by a bus or something._

_(Look at you, Barney Stinson, two seconds away from talking to yourself. You're crazy. You should be locked in an asylum somewhere, you pathetic disgrace of a man…)_

He clamped down on the voice- no, that sounds crazy. The _thought_- and clenched his fists hard. That voice had sounded different than the others, like a cross between him and something crueler, some strange shadow lurking within…

_Now I _am_ thinking like a crazy person…_ He dragged his thoughts away from insanity and asylums, and back to _her. _Back to _here._

She had not spoken this whole time, but no words were needed. He could always read her face, and she could read his. He could read the sorrow and sadness in her face, but also the joy. The pure, childish joy that had almost always been fused to her face, her eyes (_Not anymore_). And God knows what she was seeing in his face. He didn't even know how he felt. Not anymore.

Finally, he spoke. He planned to simply smile, and say her name, just for the sake of feeling it on his tongue, on his lips, ringing in his ears. It's been so long since anyone spoke her name. But he simply could not force a smile onto his lips, and once he said her name, and how glorious it was, saying her name again (_one you will never say again_), he could not hold down all the questions. He asked her how she was here, and why now, why not sooner? He asked how long she could stay and how far from this place she could go. He asked if she left, would she ever return? And for each answer he got, another question sprouted from his lips.

She was here because it was her birthday, the day she came into the world. (_And the day she left it)_

She could not come before now because she can only come on her birthday. (_The day she died)_

Since she could only come on her birthday, she could stay with him no longer than midnight. _She will be gone, just like before._

She could not exit the graveyard. (_The place her body is, where it rots in the ground)_

She could come every year on her birthday, November 11, after dark. (_Too much waiting, too little time)_

He did not dare ask what happened to her. He did not dare ask if it hurt or what it was like. He did not linger on the subject (_Murder_).

He tried to smile and act like he normally would, like he would act when she was alive (_No life here_). But it was hard; hard to talk like normal people when you're sitting in a graveyard, talking to someone you know is dead. Talking to someone who you can see through, who is sitting next to their own grave. It was hard talking to someone when you know their body is buried (_rotting_) under your feet.

A body you saw, a body you stared at. (_Blood, so much blood_)

A body you tried so hard to wake up, but couldn't. (_She will never wake up_)

But he couldn't just sit here and waste (_You wasted so much_) this precious time. The only time he could ever see her (_Never enough time_). But he had no idea what to say. What could he possibly say? His mouth opened, then closed, his mind lost for words. There was so much to say, so much he had saved up in his mind to tell her once he died (_You'll be in hell_), but now, he remembered none of it. There was nothing he could possibly say.

But he was saved from his struggles by her. She could read his face, and knew his mind. She had a lot to say. So she said it, all of it. And with each thing she said, each heartfelt, tender sentence, words burst from his lips as well. His words were different. They were not tender or sweet, at least, the feeling wasn't. She wasn't living (_Dead_). He couldn't pretend, and he hated himself for that. She would be able to act joyful (_She wouldn't visit you_), and she would start up the conversation and never let it end. But she was doing that now, so was there really a difference? Did it really matter if he still lived (_No_).

But it mattered to her (_It didn't_), so he would live, he'd live for her, even though she does not (_Rotting and dead_).

Still, should he tell his family? His friends? No, his friends wouldn't believe him. And his family, they already think he has issues. They'd lock him up in an asylum. That would be hell (_Already there_). No, it wouldn't. He was in hell, in it right now (_Forever_).

But she was here (_She wasn't_), and that means this is not hell, no matter how awful it is. He was not in hell (_You will be_).

**A/N: Yeah, I know that ending sucks, but I'm having major writer's block here. There is too much perfect in my brain. Anyways, my faithful minion worshipers- what? Not anymore? Why, cause I haven't updated in eternity? I have an excuse. I was in Disney. Yeah, I was having fun in a place where dreams come true. Now I have a lot of work to make up. School sucks. What? You still hate me? Fine, no updates for you. I will update sporadically, but this story will get done. Eventually. If you review.**

**Which reminds me, all of you but two are dead now. You meanies never reviewed. But I revive you so you can. And so you can bow and remain eternally grateful to my awesome.**

**REVIEW NOW OR MY ETERNALLY GRATEFUL MEANIES WILL MURDER YOU.**

**Because they're eternally grateful. So ha.**

**~CNoel**


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